


those imprints your soul left behind

by wolfsan11



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Implied Hance, Keith is super angry but with reason, Keith-Centric, Loneliness, M/M, Maui!Lance, Memory Loss, Moana AU, Moana!Hunk, Ocean!Pidge, Te-Fiti!Sheith, implied soulmates, only sort of, slightly Dark!Keith I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsan11/pseuds/wolfsan11
Summary: He wonders, at times, what he’s meant to be doing. Mortals come and go, hurricanes lash at his home (his prison) before moving on to haunt another stretch of water, but he? He remains. Unstable and unknowing, yet permanent.There must be some purpose to him here. Surely.-In which Keith is Te-Fiti and Shiro is also Te-Fiti, until the day Shiro goes missing. Then, there is only Te-Ka.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sochan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sochan/gifts), [Amorina21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorina21/gifts).



> A birthday fic for Sochan and Amorina21 <3 The loveliest people I've had the pleasure to know, you guys are always so encouraging and sweet and awesome, and I'm glad to have gotten the chance to befriend you <3 <3 <3 I'm sorry I'm late, I meant to post this on the 20th, like the perfect date between your birthdays, and then...well, real life happened, as you know ;; But! Here I am now, and...I hope you like it :)
> 
> I struggled to get this out and it's only 4k. Ah well. Weird little Moana au that's been on my mind for ages. Here you go.  
> Also, I will die before I write about fire and water ever again. Or the air even. wtf.

There is no story to where they began, or when. They are a pair, heat and warmth, air and force. One, a raging maelstrom of ruin, tamed by none, yet the centre of creation itself. The other, an unbound howling wind, steadying and advancing, but directionless without anchor.

Together, they are one soul with purpose; they are life.

-

Time is a minor concern, years slipping past in each other’s company. They watch over the expanding seas and isles of green, over the strange mortals that grow alongside them.

-

Somewhere, they let their guard down.

-

It begins with a sting and sparks into a low burn that has Keith come awake with a gasp. The pain flares, pulling a scream from him, back arching as it sharpens. It’s clustered at the core of his being where Shiro-

No.

His gaze whips down to where Shiro always lay, vision tunnelling as he finds nothing but a cavity in his shape.

No.

Shiro is gone.

NO.

Fear and pain and panic assault him until he cannot separate them from patience or reason. He lunges up from his rest, frantic, rips and digs into the ground, at himself. But there’s nothing, he can’t find anything, Shiro is-

He feels footsteps, where there should be none, and it brings his rampage to a halt, leaves him trembling for action. He’s not made for standing still, but he must know-

There.

Keith scrabbles up and emerges above the trees, eyes pulled to the only movement he can see at the shoreline. A tall, lanky man, rushing towards the edge of the sand, a large ornate fish hook in one hand. Purple shines through the fingers of the other, pressed close to his tattooed breast. He’s vaguely familiar, Keith thinks.

Fish hook and tattoos – the demigod. Lance.

Lance wields the strange weapon and reappears as a bird of prey, glides over the waters, the glint of an ancient soul caught crudely in his beak.

Keith sees red.

-

Keith shakes from the last blow of magic arcing over him, shakes from not knowing what’s happening, shakes until he cannot tell up from down.

The demigod falls easily, dropping into the ocean with that damned fish hook. Purple falls with him, and Keith plunges a hand in to follow it, but the cold lashes at him, leeches from him and turns him to ash, takes his hand until he screams and pulls back.

His hand returns to him, magma (magma?) filling and reshaping the limb, but Shiro…Shiro does not.

Still, he tries, over and over, ignoring the agony, the dread looming to swallow him up.

He cannot give up.

-

His flame is useless.

Before the vastness of the ocean, Keith is powerless, and what he wants is too far from his reach. He loses track of himself, hissing at the ice in his limbs as he slaps at the water, watches it churn and boil up into steam with each attempt.

There’s a feeble pulsing glow in the blue depths below, calling out to-

To…

To what?

He stops for a moment, confused.

There was…

(Shiro was gon-)

Right. Shiro. He had to get to Shiro, he had to find him.

(He had not forgotten. Of course not.)

-

Darkness spreads, but he is in no mind to notice. He needs to find Shiro.

-

At one point, Keith has to stop and allow himself to recover. He collapses and watches lava fill in the fissures on his body, gathered from his one-sided battle with the ocean. The changes in him are disquieting in that he doesn’t know why he’s become this way, why the flames have taken over so much of him. The most prominent thought in his head is that he has no time to waste, that he needs to find Shiro before it gets any worse, before he loses _himself_ -.

Oh.

(Shiro was-)

(He was gone, he was-)

( _Shiro was g-_ )

Too late, he realizes he’s warm, too warm. It builds in him, hotter and hotter, a terrifying heat he has never felt before. It sits in his sternum, in his throat, suffocating, destructive, _hateful,_ filling him to the brim-

With a desperate exhale, he dispels the heat into the ground around him, his hands flailing to hold himself up. Flames spring to life and char the rocks until they redden and crack, soot billowing into the air in dirty, dark clouds. He quivers as the power spills from him, more than he’s ever released before, more than he’s ever known he had.

When it’s over, he’s left gasping, clutching at himself, pressing at the fires in a panic. It’s all wrong. He’s all wrong, imbalanced. He is fractured and mismatched, carved hollow into something he is not.

He’s…

He’s meant to be searching. He should be moving. The bottom of the ocean awaits him, but…for what purpose?

His name. He can’t…he can’t remember his own name.

-

(Shir…?)

-

There is no story to where he began, or when.

For as long as his memories reach, he has been here, on this desolate span of rocks, in the midst of crashing ocean waves.

He’s roiling lava, hurt and fury. He knows he’s unwanted, abandoned, living a cursed existence out where he can harm no one. If he remains still long enough, he crumbles, loses more of who he is, liquid heat turned to puffs of soft ash.

So he moves.

He thrashes, he rages, he beats at those who dare approach him, who dare approach the ocean where he awaits. It’s his. This place is HIS. He protects it for-

For…

He protects it. There must be a reason, though he no longer remembers why.

He’s sure he had a name once, but now…

Now, this is all he has.

So he moves.

-

In the aeons that go by, he sees adventurers, navigators, pirates, lost souls. Intruders. Each of them, headed for the land beyond him, each of them trespassing to a place he cannot let them reach.

At times, the intruders get past him.

Always, they fail.

And then two men almost get through, one tall and thin, the other huge and muscled, an odd pair in their canoe.

He feels a lurch at the sight of the large fish hook one wields, but…it brings him nothing, not even a wisp of memory. The anger has always been easy to latch on to though, and he draws it out now, heavier and heavier, until his flames flare brighter still.

He appears before them, screeching, his molten features a ghastly final sight for far too many mortals.

Then the thin man transforms suddenly, sweeping into a flying form ( _-the demigod. L-_ ). The hawk’s swift wings carry it towards him, and he snarls, swipes at it with a boiling fist, barely missing singing its’ feathers.

They underestimate him, come seeking treasures they know nothing of, while he is driven by a singular need to defend it. He will _not_ be defied.

A false blow and a stream of fire later, the hawk lets out a wounded cry and falls ( _-easily, dropping into the ocean_ ). It transforms again to a human form, swims hurriedly away towards the canoe where his friend awaits.

He won’t let them escape, they’ve come too close-

All at once, the ground beneath him crumbles ( _-the cold lashes at him, leeches from him-_ ) and he shrieks as his hand is taken by the ocean, the pain as shocking as it was the first time when-

He shakes it off, frustrated, pushing away the distracting thoughts.

Electricity pulses through him, his head pounding, but even occupied as he is, he sees them before it’s too late, sees the man and the demigod speed towards the passageway that would let them through.

No, that wasn’t- that wasn’t allowed, they weren’t _allowed_ -

He _cannot allow them through._

He draws on his power again, tugs at it violently, lets it fester, searing and deadly. And then it escapes his hold and ( _he’s escaping he’s taken him he’s **destroyed** him Sh-)_

The demigod throws himself forward, fish hook in hand, and everything goes white.

Magic repels magic and the ocean explodes from the force, swelling up in protest.

He wails as the shockwave sends a torrent of water over him, ducks away from the biting cold that threatens to extinguish him. It’s everywhere. He’s surrounded on these rocks and the waves dash at him until he’s curled up tight, smaller than he’s ever been, heaving a terrified breathe at how close he is to disappearing.

(but would that be so terrible?)

It takes hours. The unhappy waves settle slowly, and only then does he reappear, weakened, shuddering, fire gone cold.

The two men (demigods?) are long gone.

He is alone once more, and he aches with a muted longing.

-

He wonders, at times, what he’s meant to be doing.

Loss hits him at the oddest moments, in the midst of a howling storm or even the softest gust. He never knows what he’s mourning.

Those times, he takes to beating at the ocean again, infuriated and grieving, and he learns that even the ocean can abandon him, rearing back from his anger until he’s snatching at air.

He hates it.

(Hates her)

Mortals come and go, hurricanes lash at his home (his prison) before moving on to haunt another stretch of water, but he? He remains. Unstable and unknowing, yet permanent.

There must be some purpose to him here. Surely.

There must be…

-

The man returns alone, and now he’s certain this one is a mortal. What else would be foolish enough to return without a demigod to assist?

The man is smarter now though, cuts his way through the waters in a manoeuvre that sends the canoe rocketing forwards, pushing it to the limits in dodging his attacks.

He’s tired. He feels only reluctance, no energy to bring forth. But he has…he has to protect the island. No one could be allowed through.

But then the mortal gets through (triumph on his face; how _dare_ -), rushing through the passageway. In utter desperation, he lunges forward, breaking apart his prison, lava spurting from under collapsing rocks. The canoe is upturned in the backlash and the man screams as he’s flung overboard, the ocean hardly softening his landing.

He has him.

_He has him, he has him, he ha-_

With a startling, piercing cry, a hawk drops down and there’s a fresh wash of agony as his hand is cut. He’s left shrieking, and catches the briefest glimpse of a fish hook before the bird flies off, laughing. The demigod once more.

The man lets out a whoop of delight as he begins to swim away towards the island, the hawk moving in tandem to lure his attention.

They’ve become a team. They’ve become partners, and it pulls at him, thrusts him into familiar half-memories that slip out of his grasp-

(he was a pair once)

-it hurts, blisters, _crushes-_

It ignites Him.

They thought to trick Him? He, who had survived far worse than this lowly demigod, who had killed countless curious souls, with an endless existence to remember each one through?

Steam rises from the ground beneath Him with a low hiss as the perpetual damp dries up in the onslaught of His power. Fury lights Him, and He lashes out at the lanky demigod with fervour. But the demigod is relentless and clever, slipping between His fingers, mocking Him, as though _this were a game._

It catches up to Him then. The sheer misery of a thousand cold and lonely nights, a thousand thoughts of being cast away, a thousand years of waiting and hoping for something He knows nothing of, something that never came and never would.

His sight fragments for a moment, winking in and out in dizzying transitions. He sees the ocean helping the mortal and allowing him to reach the island; the demigod, poised and prepared for His next attack; His own reflection in the water, monstrous and muddled from the fierce ripples caused by his toppling prison.

An eerie calm settles over Him.

He has a duty here, to protect this place from all intruders. His method has never mattered before, and it does not matter now.

The demigod seems to know exactly what is about to transpire, his eyes growing wide, face twisting in alarm. He springs forward desperately, bellowing, fish hook held aloft in anxious hands.

He lifts His hand to meet him.

There’s a loud, deafening crack and a white flash, a building hum as magics collide. The resulting swell shoves at Him but He shoves back, snarling, standing His ground resolutely until the force gentles and dies away.

What’s left is dust, the boiling of waves, and a trail of smoke as the demigod plummets and slams to a jarring halt on a solitary stretch of land. The remains of his faithful hook are a mere stump of a handle, no magic left in him.

And still it’s not enough. Not yet.

He lets the heat within Him grow, much like it had that first time, years back, but it’s purposeful now, within His control. A flame forms in His clawed hand, whipped slowly into a blistering blaze.

He’ll destroy the demigod, the man, Himself. He’ll burn down the island, plunder the waters and evaporate the ocean, He’ll destroy it _all_ if it means an end to _this_. There is no act too egregious, no act beyond Him if it will bring the wrath of gods over His head, if it will take Him away from _here_.

Because what does it matter, what does it matter when He has nothing awaiting him, what does any-

_(Keith)_

The flame in His hand sputters out in a flash, air shimmering in the aftermath.

He looks up slowly, turns towards the island. Purple light shines from the hands of the mortal, bright as a guiding beacon.

It calls to him.

_(Keith)_

He takes a rattling breath at the familiarity of the name. With the likeness of a foot suspended over unknown murky waters, he’s suddenly an edge away from the memories that have evaded him for so long, and he’s…terrified.

But he knows this. He knows it- he needs-it’s _his, IT’S HIS-_

The mortal moves down to the edge of the waters and they split for him, easy and smooth, revealing wet sand and the pearlescent hues of shells littering the ocean floor.

A wide path is carved through the waves, water parting in a straight line until it reaches his reef.

The man walks, ever so calmly, and sets down on the sand.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t think as he lunges forward onto new land, claws his way through the grainy soil and away from those cursed rocks for the first time in millennia. He’s free. He’s _free_ , and if the man wished to die as a fool, then he would provide him the way.

But mere inches away from his goal, everything changes. The man is speaking, voice deep and melodic, and his final words seem to float, the sound lingering for far longer than was natural.

“You know who you are.”

Despite himself, he slows. The frenetic energy driving him slips away, fades, until he’s drifting to a stop, hovering above the strange man in orange-red (those colours, as familiar as that purple. Why?).

A hush falls over them as they gaze at each other, caught in a strange tableau of silence. The man holds up his hand, purple held gently aloft, as though offering-

No.

Returning.

He knows this.

He _knows_.

_(Keith_ )

The ache in his chest grows almost unbearable, sense memory, thrumming in unison with the pulsing glow of the _soul_ in the man’s hand.

That was…

Shiro.

He’s caught somewhere in a dream as he sinks forward, bows, torso level with the man’s face, and barely feels it as the man places the soul against him, against the pattern over his core.

The wind whips up all at once, waves crashing on either side of the corridor in a magnificent splash, without shifting it an inch.

It doesn’t matter either way.

His lava drips skywards, hardens and dissolves away into dust in mere seconds. The craggy parts of him are suddenly soft fertile soil, volcanic ash, flowers blooming over his skin in pale pastels and bright, vicious reds. Ribbons of gold cover his arms, the back of his hands dusted with flecks of red and orange.

His eyes fall shut to the sight of the purple stone, nestled at the center of him, over a mess of spidery fractures that are already healing over.

It’s been returned to him. A little scuffed, a little worn, but the same.

The memories don’t trickle in, so much as he’s suddenly aware of them; like a blow to his gut but with none of the pain.

For the first time in a thousand years, he thinks: ‘ _I know who I am’._

Summery breath warms him from the inside as he huffs.

Keith remembers. He remembers _everything_.

Slowly, he reopens his eyes, and he sees the world around him anew.

The sunlight is different, vibrant as ever but no longer tinged a rusty red. The ocean is different, a faithful, remembered friend when he sees her in the right mind. _He_ is different - as he used to be, once more.

And before him, forming in a dancing whirlwind of leaves and purple blossoms, a painfully familiar face and body.

“Shiro.”

The name escapes him in a warbled, hoarse murmur, his voice so unused to meaningful speech.

Shiro smiles, terribly bright and messy, blindsiding him with the realization of just how much he’s missed it.

“Keith. I thought…I thought I’d never see you again.”

He reaches out and Keith nearly lets him, nearly lets himself feel those fingers against him. But before they can touch him, there’s a flash of images in his head, of terror and of dying islands; of a preying, suffocating darkness corrupting everything before it.

Of himself on his knees, distraught and vengeful, tearing the world down to join him.

It makes him draw back with a wounded cry.

Shiro stops, features twisting in confusion and hurt, and Keith’s throat constricts as he hastens to explain.

“You’re…if you’re here, if you’re… if you’re real, I’ll hurt you, I’ll des-”

“No, you won’t,” Shiro says firmly, and with a tug on his arm, Keith finds himself in an embrace older and more known than his prison had become. He stills at the flood of sensations, gasping, his hands hovering over Shiro’s back. But he doesn’t dare lay them down, fingers curling inwards to curb away the temptation.

Keith has never felt more safe and scared at the same time.

“I- I did so much. Hurt so many. I fell apart.”

The words tumble from his mouth, like pebbles dropped into currents by a curious child, like confessions blurted on a clear starry night.

“I don’t care,” Shiro whispers into his neck, and Keith trembles as the winds buffet over him, memorizes the voice that fills his ears and wonders how he could ever have forgotten, “I don’t care what you did because it wasn’t your fault. We were never meant to be separated, Keith. That’s what ruined us. If I’d had a form to use, if I was like you, I very well would have been the same, but as it is…I was just lost.”

What Shiro says makes sense, but he cannot get past the burning in his chest, the anxiety pulling at him.

“But I-”

“But if you’re anything like I remember, I know you’re not convinced,” Shiro says as he surrounds him completely, holding him closer, “so, why don’t we take this as a chance…to repair it. Repair what we did, together. Like we are meant to.”

In the end, it’s the affection and the promise in that voice that breaks him wide open. He lets himself push into the hug, wraps his arms around Shiro’s broad back and takes in the crisp scent of ozone that he had known so well.

“Shiro,” Keith says again, and it’s a mangled, distressed sound. It feels like the only thing he can say at all. The only word he ever wants to say.

“I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Keith takes a deep, shaky breath, drowning all over again under a forest of emotions he’s grown unused to.

But now, he has Shiro’s steady fingers to grip onto, he has gentle hands that push at his hair and cradle his face, soft lips to remind him of where he is, that he’s not abandoned. Never again.

It’s a drowning that he will always fall into, readily.

-

Hunk, as he learns the mortal is called, stands at attention and gazes up at him with wide brown eyes. He looks kind, a little worn out, the journey of a lifetime borne on loyal shoulders.

It’s worth the giddy smile he receives when he presents the man with a gift, a canoe to take him back home. Hunk deserves far more, but this is all he wants or needs. A worthy, pure soul.

Next to him, the demigod Lance is a meek figure under Keith’s withering gaze, a far cry from the legends of his exploits. He appears almost naked without the dratted fish hook, wringing his hands together in its stead.

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry” he says, awkwardly, “I had no idea that…I would never have done it if- I’m just-”

He stops, drops his arms and looks up to them, craning his neck.

“I have no excuse. I’m…I’m sorry for what I did.”

Keith stares at him. He sorely wants to be angry, wants to hit out at this menace, the cause of all his pain and years of loneliness.

But he’s tired of that anger being his only guide.

He follows the tattoos along the brown skin, and sees too clearly the story imprinted there. The depths of love, the hope, the wish to fit in that had turned just a little more twisted and desperate with every rejection.

Over the faded ink of an old tale, a new one takes shape, depicting a tall, sturdy man in a canoe. It’s that image and the solid weight of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder that lets him decide.

With a long sigh, Keith puts his hand out, lets a flame burst into being sudden enough to startle a yelp from the demigod and have him jump back.

A breeze nudges him in the side and Keith shrugs, smirk lessened only slightly by Shiro’s disapproval. It feels unbearably good to have that reprimand aimed his way.

Lance eyes him warily until he unfurls his fingers, revealing the newly crafted fish hook, sigils shimmering electric blue against ivory.

The demigod gawks at it until Hunk shoves him forward. Then he gawks some more, before sliding his hand reverently over the polished surface. He lifts it up, tilting it from side-to-side as he checks the weight, the sigils, the handle. Then, finally, he bows low, averting his face from their gaze.

“I…Thank you. Thank you so much,” he murmurs quietly, voice gritty with emotion.

Keith smiles slowly, knowing he’s done right.

When it’s time to leave, Hunk departs with a teary but happy farewell, onwards to his little village, while Lance is renewed in his enthusiasm as he flies off, at peace with who he is, at last.

And Keith thanks the ocean, the waves lapping at his feet in a pleased rhythm, no longer a danger to his flames. His smart, mischievous friend who had done so much to bring Shiro back to him with her limited ability, to protect him and the world the best as she could. He knows it had pained her too, to hurt him, though it was not her fault. He’s grateful, either way.

From behind Keith, Shiro leans into him, chin resting on his hair and Keith smiles, hardly able to believe that he can _have_ this. That he can have it back, after everything.

They have a thousand years to catch up on…and all the years ahead to do so.

-

There is no story to where they began or when, but it doesn’t matter so much to Keith. He and Shiro were made as one, complementary, strengths and weaknesses balancing each other out. More importantly, they’ve been brought together again, by fate, chance, good luck.

They were meant to be united, and to remain so.

That’s all he needs to know.


End file.
